Love Eternal
by Cosmic Angel
Summary: We shall always have tonight, shall we? When only death can part us? You have become heartless, worthless. We can never have that night back. We can never have our son back. And I... I can never have you back."


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Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, then the books wouldn't be half as good. I'd also be rolling in money. As the books are amazing, and I'm totally broke, then we can deduce that I do not, in fact, own Harry Potter. 

Written for a challenge on Fawkes Ashes, although it does bend the rules slightly. A mystery pairing! Try and guess who it is, and tell me if you're right.

**Edit:** The challenge has closed and been judged. I won GOLD! All other entrants were fantastic writers and their pieces were utterly incredible, and they deserve the gold as much, if not more, than me. Congratulations to everyone; you're all fantastic :)

And now, I'll not delay the story any longer.

* * *

"They are coming for you."

The first words she had spoken; her back to him as she watched the sun set through the tall windows. There was no emotion in them; he had taught her that. Emotions were weaknesses, control was everything, and there was no such thing as love. Words passed down from father to son, and indoctrinated into every member of the proud family. _There is no such thing as love._

He had been the first to prove that wrong, though. His father, his aloof, proud, arrogant father had threatened to disown him. Her mother, equally as proud of her daughter, had vowed never to speak to her again. She didn't want 'trash' infecting her precious family. Of course, there had been a feud for generations. He hadn't realised who she was when he met her, she hadn't remembered the feud when she first held his hand. He hadn't cared about her past when he had first kissed her, and neither had she. In the midst of arguments, battles, parents waging war on other parents, they had run away. Eloped. Returned, proud and defiant, and so hopelessly, hopelessly in love, with two tiny gold rings to testify to it.

His father instantly wrote him out of his will, threw him out of the family home. Her mother had done the same. Neither were welcome, and both had gone to Dumbledore. Sitting at his desk, fingers steepled, appraising the couple before him, a flood of emotions had gone through him. Happiness; they had both found one another. Worry; they were both in danger from their own parents. Anger; that parents, these people who raised their children in their own image, couldn't accept a simple fact. Sadness; he could guess, quite accurately, what the future held for these two.

Even though he knew, he gave them a house, helped them form their own Gringotts account from their family treasuries. Found jobs for them in the Ministry, that even their parents couldn't disapprove of. And eventually, set up a series of quiet, cautious meetings for each parent to approve of the matrimony, to give their blessings, and to finally settle the feud.

Of course, the fact that there had been a small wedding caused outrage. _Ceremony, appearance, style is everything._ They were immediately divorced, just as quietly, and five months later saw the wedding of the year take place. They had everything.

Oh but she was beautiful. She floated down the aisle like an angel, her father beaming with carefully calculated pride. The veil had covered her face, floating in the air beside her, like a halo.

He had been standing nervously by the altar. Now that he was wedding properly, publicly, the nerves had kicked in. The first time had been an act of defiance. This was an act of love.

He paced by the altar, nervous, waiting, until the organist had struck up the Wedding March. His best man had given him a brief, manly hug, and both stood, eyes fixed on the door.

When she had glided through it, a nervous smile on her angelic face, his heart had skipped, his nerves instantly calm. He was doing the right thing. He was pledging his love for this beautiful woman, vowing to stand by her until only death came between them.

His best man gave a low, appreciative whistle, lost in the majesty of the occasion. As she had accepted his outstretched hand, stepped up beside him, smiled up at him, he had almost fainted dead away. This woman could have anyone in the world, any man she chose, and she had chosen him.

Dancing their first dance as an official married couple, registered with both Wizard and Muggle worlds, he had admired her elegance and grace, hoping that any children would inherit that from her. He would never let his children suffer the way they had. Persecuted for being in love. Never would he ever utter those words, beaten into him from a young age - _there is no such thing as love._

On their honeymoon - two blissful weeks of being away from their families, away from the world - they felt, for the first time, that they belonged together, that they were wanted, that nothing would ever split them apart.

And nothing ever did come between them - until a few years later. A Dark Lord came. His father, who had been so quick to disown his son, was just as quick to condemn him to death, by forcing him to become a servant of this wizard. Adopting the name of Death Eaters, the name developed several centuries ago by an extremely powerful dark wizard. All Dark Lords, wanting to purge the world of Muggles, wanting wizards to rule all; all had given that name to their followers, in the hopes that they would be feared as even more powerful than the last.

He had become a Death Eater, like his father had. He hadn't asked her to become one. He had protested: she was too angelic, too pure, too good to become one. That hadn't been his excuse, though. His excuse was that she was weak, she would be a liability. The Dark Lord had agreed, thanked him for his concern, placed him under _Cruciatus_ for daring to be presumptuous. But the pain that had consumed his body was nothing compared to his relief. His darling angel wouldn't be tainted by the darkness, wouldn't be subjected to this torture, and if they were not successful, she would still live.

"When will they be here?"

He heard his own voice, fearful, as her hand tightened on the window frame. Her knuckles went white as she struggled to regain control, and then she straightened up.

"Dawn."

His cold eyes closed, briefly, merely to ensure that he was in control.

"Then we shall always have tonight."

She finally turned, and her eyes, sad, desperate, full of love, met his for the first time since he had arrived home.

_We shall always have tonight._

He had said those very same words to her, over two decades ago. His father; her mother; both were dead. There was nobody to stand in their way. Nobody, except for the Dark Lord. But as they lay down together, as he held her slender form, as she put her head to his chest, hearing his heart beat, there was no one else that mattered in the world. He had not begun to affect her, then. She was still pure, free from his family's influence.

_We shall always have tonight,_ he had whispered. Her joyful eyes had met his, and that night had been one that he had never forgotten. It was perfect, a taste of what heaven would be like if he ever got there.

And nine months later she had rewarded him with a beautiful son. He had been overjoyed, every inch the proud father. They had chosen his name carefully, had instantly put his name down for Hogwarts. He would be a Slytherin, of course, following in his father's footsteps.

That was when he had changed. The Dark Lord disappeared, and he had no reason to protect his wife any more. But protect her he did, from any other man. What if she found someone else? What if she stopped loving him? He couldn't risk it. He'd die without her, and after all, he'd vowed that only death would part them.

_Emotions are weaknesses,_ he'd repeat coldly, beating his son for daring to cry, scolding his wife for her audacity when she hugged them both. _Control is everything._ She began to stifle her emotions; her eyes became cold and cruel, calculating every emotion carefully. Their son followed her example, and whenever he set eyes on them, his heart broke. He had to teach them, they had to control themselves. She was loyal to him, she had to remain so. If she could control her emotions, she would never love another.

It had never occurred to him that she would stop loving him, until one night, at the Quidditch World Cup. She had looked at him in disgust, pure and utter hatred.

He had put her under the _Cruciatus_. And then he hadn't looked at her for almost a year, too ashamed with what he'd done.

She had said that he was forgiven, but he felt she hated him; he couldn't stand to be in her presence. To his mind, hatred emanated from every pore on her body. She poured her heart and soul into making him proud of their son. He had grown to look exactly like his father, right down to the cold, heartless smirk and emotionless eyes.

One night, he had broken down in tears in the cold of his study. Only house elves ever ventured in there, and one of them gently comforted her master, patted his back with her long, spindly fingers until the tears had stopped. He had confessed to her that he hated himself. He had been so afraid of her being tainted, broken by the Dark Lord, and yet he'd done a much worse crime. He'd forgotten how much he loved her.

The house elf had kept silent, merely patting his back until he had fallen asleep on the floor. When he had woken, he was back in his bed, and his angel was watching over him with fearful eyes. When he turned his head, croaked out her name, she had thrown herself at him, tears slipping down her cheeks, thankful that he was alright.

When he had asked her what was wrong, she had confessed that when she caught a house elf tucking him into his bed, making sure he was alright, she had caught the elf and forced her to explain what was wrong. The house elf had never been so fiercely loyal, and yet so gentle. After his breakdown, the elf had seen him in a new light - as a human, with emotions, one that hurts just as much as anyone else.

And he made her promise not to ever tell their son. He must not realise how weak his father was. He undid all that his honest, broken words had done in his distress. The disgusted look crossed her face briefly, and she stormed out of the room. _You must have been feverish. _ Only his house elf ever realised how much he loved his wife and his son.

The Dark Lord came again. He woke one night in a cold sweat, his arm burning. Beside him she slept, peaceful, ignorant to his leaving. Only when he had apparated did she wake, stare at the empty space beside her, cried.

Once more he had pledged allegiance, secretly. He didn't want her to find out, or she would be disappointed, hurt, and may seek comfort elsewhere. No matter how he tried to make it up to her, his subtle efforts went unnoticed. He had done what no one else had been able to. He had broken his spirited wife. Her eyes, once so full of love and life, were now dull, full of hatred towards him.

He couldn't bear to be with her any more. He retreated to the darkness of his study, inflicted curses and potions upon himself as punishment for what he had done. His son went through school, left with many honours piled upon him. Became an Auror. Joined the Order of the Phoenix.

And every day he went about his business calmly, in control, knowing that as soon as his master fell, he would go too. He felt himself become a machine, a heartless monster. The shrieks of Muggles and Muggleborns fell on stone ears as he, almost automatically, raised his wand, pointed it at his victims, uttered the killing curse, watched them fall. All he could think of was _her_. She held his heart, and yet she mocked him for being heartless? How could she?

_But,_ corrected an inner voice, _it was your fault. You mistreated her, didn't you? You didn't accept her love, you didn't believe it, and it broke your heart. Of course she mocks you. You've lost your way, you've lost your wife, you've lost your humanity._

A bitter laugh shook him from his reverie. She had silent tears streaming down her face, not bothering to wipe them away.

"We shall always have tonight, shall we? When only death can part us?" Her porcelain face looked around desperately, blinded by tears. "You have become heartless, worthless. We can never have that night back. We can never have our son back. And I... I can never have you back." 

He put his head in his hands, breaking. Not even his father, who had always been so in control, so wonderfully heartless, could have coped at this.

"I, I'm sorry," he whispered. He heard her shocked gasp, and began to cry. When his wife, his beloved, beautiful wife couldn't believe that he was capable of an apology, it finally sunk in. What he'd done. How he'd treated her.

His wedding vows. He had agreed to them, had murmured, 'I do' when captivated by her loveliness. The question circled in his mind. _Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; forsaking all others until death do you part?_

"I do," he muttered absently. He felt a pressure on his hand, and clasped his fingers around hers. Their wedding rings glinted in the low firelight. A shaft of moonlight lit the floor. How long had they been there?

"I did, and I do," he whispered again, his voice a ghost in the still air. She was sitting at his feet, clasping his hand, her eyes no longer full of hatred but concern, compassion, love.

Love?

Did she still love him? _Could_ she still love him? After all, he was a monster, inhuman. In his own opinion, death was too good for him. Even the Dementor's Kiss, considered a fate worse than death, was too good. The worst life he could imagine, the one he knew his son would never consider, was to live a life without her, to watch her marry another, to be happy without him, to love another but him.

Her brown eyes, so large and so trusting, watched him anxiously. All his words, his warnings about showing emotion, they hadn't made a difference to her. Staring into her eyes, he got lost in the love, the concern, the sheer intensity of the emotion made his knees go weak.

"I love you," he breathed, captivated once more by her beauty. "I never stopped loving you."

Her eyes lit up, delight radiating from her, and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He rocked slightly from the force of her hug, and then, with a grateful smile, a smile of relief, he gently stroked her head, noting the few strands of grey amongst the silky hair. He felt strange; he hadn't smiled in such a long time, he hadn't felt happy for so many years...

"We can run away," she begged, her voice muffled. "We can hide! We have more than enough money, and we know enough spells! We can make sure they'll never find us!"

"No." His voice cracked to have to say it, to let her down. "We can't. I have brought this upon myself, and I will accept my punishment."

"But they'll kill you!" she cried, lifting her head.

"I know."

Silence descended upon the cold room. The fire burned lower, until only smouldering coals lit the room. A small snap indicated the presence of a house elf, and the fire roared into life again. Still neither of them moved, holding each other, committing each other to memory before they were separated.

She was crying, he could feel her tears soaking through his robes. His own eyes filled, but he refused to let them cry. _Emotions are weaknesses. Control is everything. There's no such thing as love._

That was a lie. Emotions made them stronger. Here she was, crying for him, loving him, and she was the strongest person he knew. He loved her, and it had kept him going when even his self-control had failed. Love _did_ exist, it lived in everything that moved, it gave new life, it blessed everyone and everything it touched. He had heard of the Muggle concept of a 'Holy Spirit', something that gave new life, made everything holy. How could they not realise that love, true love, was that? After meeting the one, the person who was right for you, your soulmate; everything became holy, sacred to you. Everything you saw was infused with life, energy. You became a new person...

"Sickle for them?"

He looked down. She had sat up, and was watching him with a curious yet knowing look on her face. That look... he hadn't seen it for years. It was the one she'd been wearing when he had first seen her. She had been in the Library, doing homework, and he had been looking for a person to annoy, to tease, when he had fallen out with some Gryffindors. She had appeared an easy target, until she'd looked up and made eye contact.

"Only death can part us," he said in a whisper. "And when it claims us both, we'll be together again. I promise."

She was biting her lip, deep in thought. Reluctant to pull her from whatever world she was in, he looked over her face. Flawless complexion; one or two wrinkles that had come prematurely with stress, long, dark eyelashes that their son had inherited, and then those eyes.

"When will that be?" she asked quietly. "They will kill you, yes. But will it be now? Next week? Or will they kill your soul, steal your life, and let your body live for as long as it can? For the moment they take you, the moment I know you have gone, I will die." Her voice was steady, and he knew she was telling the truth. Either she would die naturally, or she would die by her own hand.

"...they will administer the Kiss," he said, just as quietly as she had been speaking. "I was a Death Eater, I never redeemed myself like Severus Snape did, like Blaise Zabini did. I will be put in Azkaban, with only the Dementors for company, until they give me the Kiss." He looked away from her, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye quickly.

"What is it?" she asked him, her voice penetrating the fog that had enveloped his mind.

"I'm afraid," he said a bit too loudly, his voice brittle. He wasn't used to saying how he felt. "I'm afraid. I don't want them to take me like that, I don't want to be left alive without a soul; without feelings, without memories... without you."

"I won't let that happen."

He looked back, sharply. Her face was set, determined. Only the gods knew what thought had struck her, but he was intrigued.

"We shall be together again, on the other side," she whispered. "But I won't let them steal your soul, the soul I love so much."

"What can you do?" he asked bitterly. "I deserve it. I brought it upon myself. I've never given you cause to help me, either."

"Never given me cause?" She laughed, her back to him as she pulled a piece of paper from a book with a flourish. "You gave me love, you gave me yourself. A beautiful son, a wonderful home, everything I've ever wanted, you have provided for me. And I love you, I always have done. I won't pretend that I understand why you did what you have done, but you never stopped loving me." She found a quill, and scribbled a brief note. "House elves do talk to me too, you know."

He watched her as she walked back over to him, took his hand, pulled him gently to his feet. He rose, and stood calmly. He wasn't afraid any more. She was with him. She loved him, and he loved her back, more now than ever before.

"Come with me," she commanded. He followed her silently through the door, through the long corridors, outside into the crisp air. The moon was hidden momentarily behind a cloud, the stars twinkled faintly through another.

"It is a pleasant night," he said, his breath a puff of white air, rising quickly before disappearing just as swiftly. He hadn't been outside for weeks. The sky had simply been a piece of blue, or grey, as he stared out the window, locked up in his study with only his thoughts for company.

"It is," she agreed, her breath joining his in the air. She had brought gloves with her, and he put them on unquestioningly. Linking arms, he walked, steered by a gentle tug from her.

They walked out of the garden, up to a hill, away from all his protective wards. They would do no good. The dawn approached, and with it, their son, their enemies, death in every one of them.

"We must Apparate," she said quietly.

"Apparate? Where to?"

"It's a surprise," she said, letting go of his arm. "I will Apparate first. Will you follow me?" she asked, hesitant.

"I would follow you to the ends of the earth," he replied calmly, assuredly, smiling slightly as she blushed. After all their years of marriage, he could still bring a blush to her cheeks.

And his father had disapproved. Her parents had been furious. Their friends hated them, hadn't spoken to them until the second, more extravagant wedding. _It's crazy,_ they had repeated to her, watching him warily. _He'll leave you for someone else. He won't let you do anything. He's the worst Slytherin in the house, he's pure evil. Don't trust him._

His own friends had been just as angry. _What do you think you're doing? Look at her! She thinks she's so much better than us all, just because she sucks up to all the professors, they all give her good marks. I wonder how much she pays them - or what else she does to get the marks. And besides, it's not how you do in class that counts. She'll never cope in the real world. You're better off without her._

He laughed as he remembered this. At least her friends had decent arguments. His friends didn't have a leg to stand on, and they knew it.

She looked at him again, this time a soft, sad smile on her face.

"Follow me," she commanded, disappearing with a soft popping sound. He nodded, wrapping his robes around him a little tighter, and, focusing on her face, her energy, he apparated.

When he looked around, he had no idea where he was at first. A beach? The sky was clear, clearer than it had been outside their home, and it was warmer.

As he looked around, and saw her standing at the edge of the sea, the sea breeze in her hair, he remembered the last time they had been here, the first time he had seen her like that.

"How romantic," he said sarcastically, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her from behind, needing her comforting form. "Back here?"

"Do you remember this place?" she asked, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. He rested his chin on her shoulder, put his cheek against hers.

"Of course I do. How could I forget?"

"Old age," she teased, getting an offended poke in the ribs.

"I would never forget," he said, growing serious. "Our honeymoon."

"It was wonderful," she sighed, lost in her memories. He thought back to the first day there... 

_We're finally together,_ she had said. _Accepted by everyone.__ And it feels great!_

She had run, laughing, straight down to the beach. With a carefree grin, he had followed, and that day had been spent playing on the sand, swimming in the perfect blue sea, without a worry or a care.

"You swam excellently," she said, surfacing from her memories. He smirked.

"I still do, milady."

"I don't doubt it," she smiled. "You can swim through anything and everything."

"Only until I get back to you," he whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver at his words. "I'll always find my way back to you."

She covered his hands with hers, interlacing their fingers.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Even when we both die?"

"Nothing can stop me, and nothing ever will be able to, not even the mysteries of the afterlife." 

"Thank you." She stepped away from him, put her hand into her robes, drew out her wand.

"I'm not going to let them take you away from me," she whispered, her heart breaking as he looked at her, knowing what she was about to do, and still trusting her. "They'll never be able to claim your death as a victory; they'll never take your soul. Even if I have to kill you myself..."

"Thank you," he said simply, his eyes warm, for once, filled with love, trust, happiness. He reached out for her, his hands tracing every feature of her face, before he drew her closer and gently kissed her.

"I love you," he whispered as he let her go. "We'll be together again, don't worry."

"For eternity," she whispered back.

His hand found hers, squeezed it tightly, reassuring. He wanted her to do it. She took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes, a serene smile spreading across his face.

Remembering his advice on casting Unforgivables, said a long time ago, she screwed up every inch of her courage. She had to want to kill him; and so she did. She wanted him dead more than anything, so that his soul would always belong to her; so he'd be waiting for her when it was time for her to leave this world herself.

Her hand shaking, she pointed her wand squarely at his chest.

"_Avada Kedavra_," she whispered.

The jet of green light that shot out from her wand - reminding her of Harry Potter, of his eyes that could see everything - hit him. His eyes remained closed, and he fell backwards, a crumpled heap on the sand. She wondered, briefly, if Harry had seen this.

The light died down, and she knelt by his side, touching his hand. It was still warm. His closed eyes, and serene smile, gave him the appearance of a sleeping man, and she smiled. He was happy, he was peaceful, and he loved her.

Placing a kiss on his brow, feather light, she stood, and with a last, loving glance, Apparated away.

* * *

_Emotions are weaknesses. Control is everything. There is no such thing as love._

For some reason, these words were whispered in the dream, just before a sharp pain shot through his scar and Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, awoke with a start.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Next to him, Ginny sat up and put her arm around her husband. "Did you have a dream?"

Harry nodded, clutching her other hand for comfort. Something in the dream had been incredibly sad, and that sadness filled his mind, rendering him speechless.

"Here." Ginny handed him a glass of water, which he accepted with shaking hands. "What happened?"

Gulping the water, Harry wiped his hair out of his eyes. "I don't know. I can't remember. I mean-" He took another sip of water. "Something sad. Someone was sad."

Ginny hugged him, knowing better than to press for information. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah," he answered uncertainly. "What time is it?"

"Almost half past four," she said. "You should be getting up soon anyway. I'll go make a cup of tea."

Harry smiled with relief as she slipped out of bed, wrapped a robe around herself, and shuffled out of the room. A wailing arose as the newest addition to the family, Helena, was rudely awakened. Loud shouts joined the babies cries as six-year old Lily and four-year old James had their dreams disturbed.

"Daddy!" yelled the little boy, running into his room. "'Ewena's cwying!"

"I'm coming," sighed Harry, reaching for his robe and pulling it on quickly. With the little black-haired boy following him, he hurried across to the nursery, flicked on the light, and within seconds had the small girl in his arms.

"Ssh, Helena, stop crying, Daddy's here," he murmured, rocking her in his arms. "Are you hungry? We'll get you some food now, shall we?"

"We'we hungwy too," announced James, as Lily tumbled into the room, determined not to miss out on the chance of food. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry walked out. "Back to bed with you two! I'll be up in five minutes to make sure you're asleep!" he ordered, ignoring the complaints. Helena had stopped crying, and was now staring up at him with her sharp green eyes, looking far too intelligent for a child of five months.

"Ginny! Baby's hungry!" he yelled, pushing open the kitchen door with his foot. "She woke up Lils and James too, so I'm going to check on them and then get ready for work. We're leaving at six."

"Alright." Ginny took Helena. "I'll have a cuppa ready for when you come back down, and breakfast when you come back."

"Thanks, Gin. You're too good to me." Harry kissed his wife and left the room. She smiled as she heard him ordering Lily and James back to bed, worry in her eyes. What had his dream been about? Was it anything to do with... with what they had to do this morning?

She didn't even think it, so horrified was she that her husband, Harry Potter, top Auror and Seeker for England in his spare time, was going to kill someone. When the war had been on, she could understand it. But now... now, Voldemort was gone, there was no threat from Death Eaters.

Helena gave a small cry of impatience, fed up with waiting, and Ginny shook herself out of her thoughts and reached out for a bottle, feeding the tiny baby in her arms.

Upstairs, Harry watched sternly as James slowly climbed into bed, complaining whenever possible. Lily had already retreated to her bedroom in a sulky silence.

James pulled the blanket up to his chin, his mess of black hair the only thing visible over the top. Harry grinned and gave the blankets a tug.

"Wha'?" asked James, peering over the top.

"Don't hide, I can still see you," teased Harry. James' soulful brown eyes, replicas of Ginny's, stared up beseechingly. Harry gave in.

"If you go back to sleep now, we'll go to the zoo on the weekend," he promised. "And if you're extra good, I might let you feed the hippogriffs."

James' face lit up and he snuggled down into his bed, closing his eyes. Harry laughed and switched the light off, closing the door quietly.

"Lily, are you in bed?" he asked quietly.

"'es," came the indistinct voice.

"Are you asleep?"

"'es."

"Get into bed and put your dolls away," he ordered, before opening the door. Lily dropped her doll with a guilty look on her face, and leapt into bed.

"Come on Lils, help me here. If you don't go back to sleep, Mum will get angry, and if she gets angry, it'll be like being at Grandma Molly's when Uncle Fred was there, remember?"

"'es," nodded Lily, ducking under the covers. "Uncle F'ed got inte twouble."

"And Daddy will be in just as much trouble, if not more. So will you go to sleep?"

"'es," agreed Lily quietly, her eyes, her startling green eyes, closing despite themselves. "Daddy, 'm not ti-" she broke off in a yawn. Harry raised his eyebrow, challenging her to finish that sentence.

"G'night," was all she said, tucking a large, battered teddy up next to her and closing her eyes. Her red-black hair, naturally highlighted, fanned out behind her.

"Night," whispered Harry, switching off the light and leaving her door open, aware of her strange fear of the dark. He headed for a shower, tired. _Who would have thought that being a father was such hard work?_

As the water cascaded down over him, Harry tried to remember his dream. The feeling of sadness came back, and out of nowhere, he remembered a voice saying his name ... _I wonder if Harry can see this._

Well, he thought, I felt it. And it hurt like hell.

Who could it be, though?

Searching for any clues to the identity of this person, one last fragment of information drifted into his mind.

A beach.

He didn't know why it was important, but he felt that a beach, _this_ beach, was important. Now all he had to do was find out where it was.

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry hadn't walked through the door before Ron had grabbed hold of his arm and started towing him with surprising speed towards his office.

"What's happened?" he asked, sensing an urgent undertone.

"The alarms apparently went off last night. They Apparated out about two or three hours ago."

"What?!" Harry let out an angry roar and sprinted down the corridor, hearing the panicked voices from the room at the end.

"We've got to go now, before he kills us!" "Wait for Mister Potter to arrive, then we'll leave as soon as we can-" 

"To hell with Potter, we have to go _now_!"

"He's here, sir, would you please- Sir!"

"It's no good, he's Apparated. We'll just have to follow as quickly as we can." A calmer voice.

"Remus!" Recognizing the voice, Harry dashed into the room. "What's going on? What are you all waiting around for? Grab your wands and Apparate, you idiots! There's a dangerous Death Eater on the loose!" 

Cowering under the ferocity of his gaze, the Aurors jumped into action. Loud pops filled the room as it emptied. Harry nodded at Tonks, who was one of the last to leave, and she nodded solemnly back.

"I'll go to Azkaban. Contact me as soon as you need a Dementor," she said quietly, walking sedately past him. "Oh, and Harry? Good luck."

"Thanks." As soon as Tonks had left, Harry gripped his wand tightly and Apparated.

* * *

"Where the bloody hell has that idiot run off to?"

When he arrived, Ron was disarming the protective wards with alarming speed, raging.

"He just Apparated and ran straight in! We know that _he_ isn't there, so why the hell..?"

"If it was your father, wouldn't you do the same?" asked Harry quietly. Ron thought about the implications of this, and nodded. The newest Auror to join Harry's command was the one who had provided enough evidence for the last Death Eater to be locked away, killed.

"Don't worry, we'll get the bastard," said Ron, pausing. "You got Voldemort, didn't you? So this one'll be a piece of cake."

"He's barking mad, Ron. Nutty as a fruitcake. It'll be hard. I knew what curses Voldemort would use; but I haven't got a clue what ones would be used here." Harry sighed. "Why couldn't he just drop dead before the war?"

"Because he's a bastard, Harry," said Ron comfortingly. "We'll get him, though."

"Sir, the last one's down!" shouted a younger Auror, as all of them sprinted inside the large mansion. Harry pointed his wand at his throat.

"_Sonorus__,_" he muttered, and then:

"ATTENTION ALL AURORS! THIS MAN IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS! I WILL BE LEADING THE MISSION, WHICH MEANS ALL OF YOU STAY _BEHIND_ ME AT ALL TIMES! UNDERSTAND?"

His voice echoed, and the Aurors dropped back, shame-faced, letting Harry through. Closely followed by Ron, Harry swiftly stalked into the building, a muttered _Quietus_ returning his voice to normal. In silence, he blew doors off their hinges, destroyed rooms, searched for hiding places, for the man he had been trying to imprison for months.

A loud, outraged scream came from an upper floor. With a look at Ron, Harry dashed up them, heading for the open door.

As he entered, he saw a couple at the end of a large library. One, the man, was looking out the window, searching the room, screaming curses and threats, whilst the other, the woman; heavily pregnant, was staring at something on a table. Tears were streaming down her face.

"What is it?" asked Harry, ignoring the mop of blonde hair that disappeared under a table. Pushing her gently, but firmly out of the way, he stared at a piece of parchment, and read the elegant, looping writing.

_Draco,_

_I know you'll attend Harry Potter in the attempt to capture your father, and so I address this note to you._

_We have left; forever. Your father has departed to face whatever trials may come after death; I have retired to live out the rest of my loneliness in peace, free of persecution. We love you, and we are proud of you and what you have achieved with your life. We are also proud of your beautiful wife; the first female Minister of Magic! Our congratulations to Miss Granger. Or should that be Mrs Malfoy?_

_Though however much I love you, Draco, I love your father ten times more. I will not see his soul die in the way you would punish him for protecting his family. And protecting us he was, from both the Dark Lord, and from himself._

_Be careful, Draco, that you are not overcome with the same fear he was. He feared he would lose us, and that drove him almost to insanity. He feared he would be left alone, without the only people who ever loved him, and so he attempted to drive us away, so we wouldn't hurt him._

_Don't ever fall prey to suspicion. Love your wife, love any children that you have, and live life to the fullest._

_Remember; our emotions are our strengths. Control is nothing, it is worthless. And there **is** such thing as love. A love that conquers even death. Love eternal._

_Narcissa_

* * *

Did you guess right? Hope you did! (Or, didn't, as if you didn't it means I wrote it the way I wanted it.) Let me know in a review! hint hint

**Edit: **Many of you have commented on how Narcissa's eye colour is wrong. In canon, we are not told her actual eye colour - something I researched both before and after writing this fic. The assumption that her eyes are blue is simply evidence of fanon tainting canon (or, being completely accurate. As we don't know, we can only assume.)

However, I feel Narcissa would have dark eyes - after all, on her official website, JK Rowling says that Sirius' eyes are grey; and Bellatrix Lestrange, another Black, has dark eyes. It seems logical, although could well be wrong.


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